Page 82 of His Forsaken Bride

“Poor Queen Armenal,” said Fen sadly.

Oswald pursed his lips, but said nothing and Fen wondered if he thought her naïve or provincial to expect fidelity from the King. She ran her fingernail over the bumpy grain on the wooden table and tried to think of a less contentious subject of conversation. She was flushed and happy and didn’t want the cozy intimacy of the meal to end. Spending time alone with Oswald Vawdrey was a heady experience. She felt quite giddy. Or could that be the mulled cider? She looked up to find him watching her. “Thank you for making the time today,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear and feeling suddenly shy again. “I know how much the King relies on you.” Actually, she didn’t, but that was what she’d heard. Since her frankly disastrous meetings with both monarchs she had successfully managed to avoid meeting either of them in the days that had followed. She hoped devoutly that she could continue that way.

Oswald frowned slightly at her words. “You’re my wife, and as such I will always have time for you.”

It seemed to Fenella that he looked a little surprised by the words coming out of his own mouth. She smiled at him warmly and he reached across to take her hand.

“Come, we had better make our way back.”

At the reluctance in his voice, Fen felt a warmth spread right through her chest. It must be the punch, she told herself sternly as she rose from the bench and took his arm.

**

It was not until a full two weeks later, that Fenella heard any more of a proposed annulment of her marriage to Ambrose Thane. She had been at court for over a month now, and was walking back toward the palace after a good long walk through the castle grounds with Hester Schaeffer. They had been to visit Fen’s horse, who was looking very content in the stables, which had put Fen’s mind at rest. She had fed her an apple and checked with the groomsmen about her exercise, before she and Hester had continued on their way. They walked a good way for it was a cold, crisp morning with a bright blue sky, and it was pleasant to be out of doors. Fen wore her new thick scarlet knitted gloves with their gold rosettes and a rather splendid new cloak of celestial blue wool lined with a matching silk. They meandered a good deal on their walk, as neither was in a hurry to reach a destination, and Bors was an old dog who liked a sedate pace. Hester’s sleeker hound, Juniper, danced around her mistress and in circles and covered at least three times as much as the rest of them. They were finally on their way back to the castle when Bors, plodding at her heels for most of the walk, gave a low ‘woof’ of surprise and then plunged ahead of them.

“Bors!” called Fen, but then she saw him dart into one of the arbors where she could just make out the form of a person in the shadows. Bors pranced about him excitedly.

“Who’s that?” asked Hester.

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” admitted Fen screwing up her eyes. He was far too short to be Oswald or Roland. “But whoever it is, Bors knows them.”

“You there,” hailed Hester. “Show yourself fellow!”

There was a rustle and a cough and then, after a moment’s hesitation, Sir Ambrose Thane stepped forward onto the path. Hester’s dog bared her teeth and snarled and had to be called off.

“Ambrose!” exclaimed Fen, caught by surprise. He was wearing a striped doublet and yellow hose with very long pointed shoes. He looked most peculiar to her eye, but perhaps ‘twas the fashion?

“Indeed?” said Hester curiously. She peered at Ambrose with interest. “Presumably there is a reason he is lurking in the King’s shrubbery.” She was holding onto Juniper by her collar now.

“I can’t think what,” replied Fen.

Ambrose drew himself up indignantly. “I was hoping I might be permitted a word with you Fenella,” he said, shooing away Bors, who was still looking to him for a pat on the head.

“Have you greeted Bors yet?” she asked him frostily. “Or is ignoring old acquaintances your new practice?”

Ambrose looked startled by her words. He glanced down at the dog as if he had not even really seen him there. “Is that really Bors?” he asked absently. “I would not have recognized him.”

“Come here, Bors,” Fen called, patting her leg. Her dog returned to her side and she stroked his head. “Dear old bear,” she murmured. “You have new friends now.”

Ambrose took a step toward her and Juniper set up a cacophony of barks, that made her mistress exclaim. “Dear me,” said Hester. “Sir Ambrose has a most unfortunate manner with dogs.” She unfastened a length of cord from her waist and slipped it through her dog’s collar. “I believe I will walk Juniper a little further up the path. But I will remain in view,” she assured Fen straightening up. “At all times.” She gave a brief nod to Ambrose Thane and then sweeped along the path before them.

“I don’t know what she meant by that,” said Ambrose fretfully. “I hardly think you need a chaperone where I am concerned!”

Fen ignored him, and his gesture toward the arbor he had emerged from. She had no intention of sitting closeted with him in a small space. “I believe I will walk behind Lady Schaeffer,” she said. “Whether you choose to walk beside me is your affair, Sir Ambrose.”

He looked taken aback by her formality and stood stock still as she swept past him. After a moment, she heard his footsteps hurry after her, when he realized she was not going to halt and wait for him.

“Wait,” he puffed. “Upon my word, your attitude surprises me, madam!” he complained as he drew level with her and matched her steps.

“My attitude?” echoed Fen. “I am not the one who dissolves bonds and rescinds vows on a whim, without even having the courtesy to inform those directly involved.” She continued steadily. “If it were not for Orla, I would still be sat at Thurrold awaiting your return.” She flickered her gaze to his face. “How did you intend to tell me that I was supplanted, Ambrose? Would you have ridden up to the door with your new bride?”

He huffed. “I am surprised at you Fenella. You are being far too dramatic.”

“And you sir, are being far too familiar,” Fenella told him loftily. She gazed into the distance. “You should address me correctly as Lady Vawdrey.”

He spluttered at this. “Outrageous, madam! You have the nerve to pretend that you are the injured party in this affair!”

Fenella noticed, that despite his ire, he kept his voice hoarse in an effort that Lady Schaeffer should not hear him. Almost she rolled her eyes. Trust it to Ambrose to twist things around so that he was the one hard done by. She had always known of course, that he was self-pitying at times. But this was a new low. “You petitioned for divorce, without even having the decency to tell me,” she pointed out.